


need a little tenderness

by bizarrebird



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Hitman AU/Modern AU, M/M, PWP, RvB Smut Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 17:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizarrebird/pseuds/bizarrebird
Summary: This is such a bad idea. Tucker knows that, like he knows. But that doesn’t stop him from grabbing Locus by the bleeding hand and tugging him inside.Written for RvB Smut Week: AU DAy





	need a little tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> So this is part of an AU that I've been poking at for a while. Locus is a professional hitman who keeps coming to the cafe where Tucker works. They slowly get to know each other and things start to get complicated. For this piece, that's mostly just backdrop, so hopefully there's not much that doesn't make sense!

This is such a bad idea. Tucker knows that, like he  _ knows _ . But that doesn’t stop him from grabbing Locus by the bleeding hand and tugging him inside. 

Suddenly, he’s much more aware of how messy his stupid tiny apartment is as he kicks things out of the way to pull the giant of a man to the bathroom. There’s barely enough room for the two of them in there. He pushes lightly at Locus’ chest to get him to sit on the lip of the tub, and he knows it’s only because the man lets him. 

He hesitates for a second, looking over Locus, getting a better view in the light and out of the rain. There’s a cut high on his cheek and another on his forehead. His jaw is bruised… most of the left side of his face is actually, a few scrapes making it look like he met the pavement face first at one point. His suit is soaked through, red showing here and there, though with the drowned cat impression he’s doing, it’s hard to tell how much blood there actually is. And just how much of it is his own.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Tucker mutters, shaking his head. He grabs a first aid kit and… it’s hard to get at him if he sits next to him. Locus is too fucking huge. 

So Tucker sighs and nudges at Locus’ legs until he can sit on them, his face going a little warm, but his expression carefully blank. Totally not weird that he’s straddling Locus. Just don’t think about the fact that he’s sitting on the lap of a contract killer who could snap him in half if he wanted to. 

But he keeps not doing that. And they keep ending up like this. With Tucker trying hard not to think about whether the blood Locus is covered with belongs to him and remembering the gentle warnings Locus keeps giving when they apparently accidentally bump into each other in public. 

_ Don’t come in to the cafe today.  _

_ Stay off fifth street this afternoon.  _

_ I would advise transferring your account to another bank as quickly as possible.  _

And that’s all super cryptic and worrying. But what Tucker can’t figure out is why him. Why the random guy who works in Locus’ favorite coffee shop? Why does he get the warnings? Why does he get the long looks from those storm colored eyes that make his heart skip a beat and obscene images pop into his head? 

Tucker should cut this off, say he can’t deal with this anymore. But he doesn’t. He just carefully undoes his tie and pushes his jacket back from his shoulders. 

“Take this shit off,” he says, digging through the first aid kit. He can at least get started on Locus’ face. Honestly, Tucker half expects Locus to shove him off, to tell him not to give him orders. But there’s hardly any hesitation before large hands move to obey. The suit jacket slides down Locus’ arms, the fabric so heavy and damp that it smacks on the tile of the tub. 

Locus’ hands move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them carefully. And that’s… a lot more distracting than it should be, actually, so Tucker grabs at one of his hands and gets a raised eyebrow in response. That’s the most expressive thing Locus has done since Tucker dragged him inside. 

“Just hold still for a sec. Let me fix your face first--I changed my mind,” Tucker says, trying not to sound half as flustered as he actually is. 

There’s a very faint nod and then it’s like Locus is frozen. Okay, maybe telling him to ‘hold still’ wasn’t the best idea. Oh well, might as well get to it. Tucker starts with a pair of tweezers, wincing in sympathy as he carefully removes little bits of gravel from the scrape over Locus’ cheek. But there isn’t so much as a hint of a flinch or a grimace. The only reaction is Locus’ jaw setting, his lips pressing to a thin line. 

“Tell me if you need me to give you a break or anything, dude.”

“I’m fine. Tell me when you’re finished.” Locus’ voice is only a touch more stilted than usual, a vague hint of irritation there. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Sorry for giving a shit.” Tucker rolls his eyes and gets back to work. 

For a second, something seems to soften in Locus’ face, his eyes flicking down almost sheepishly. “Oh… yes. Alright. I should be fine until you’re through removing the gravel. Don’t worry.”

“Wouldn’t have to worry if you didn’t have a face full of rocks in the first place,” Tucker mutters.

Locus lets out a soft huff that might be a laugh. “I’ll try to keep that in mind in the future.” 

And then large hands land on Tucker’s hips and pull him a little closer. Wow. Okay, that’s happening. Uh. Good. Now he can get at the rocks better. That’s good. Focus on that and not the very muscular chest that he’s like inches away from now. Even though his free hand his there and he can feel every inch of Locus’ abs through the wet shirt. 

Focus. He’s still bleeding. Work on that first. 

When he’s pretty sure he’s got Locus’ face clear of gravel, he sets down the tweezers and goes for the antiseptic. “This is gonna sting.” 

He’s pretty sure Locus rolls his eyes at that, cause he’s got his ‘I’m a scary badass’ thing going on, but Tucker’s just not even going to acknowledge that. Let Locus be tough or whatever, Tucker’s just still working under the assumption that somewhere under the layers of murder machine, there might be an actual person in there who still knows what pain feels like. 

Which is why he showed up on Tucker’s doorstep. Maybe. He’s still got a lot of question marks about that. But he can deal with that once the blood’s all cleaned up. 

The cuts on his face are easy enough to clean and bandage, luckily neither look bad enough for stitches. Alright, that’s good. Now… the rest of him. Jesus. Okay, Tucker can do this. 

Locus’ jacket is already out of the way, so Tucker just takes a breath and starts working off his shirt. His focus is intent on the buttons. Don’t stare at the miles of muscular skin and the network of scars. Just stay focused. Breathe. 

“Lavernius.” The way Locus says his name as his hands move to cover Tucker’s sends a shiver down his spine. His hands are still a little clammy and wet, so that’s not exactly doing it for him right now, but there’s something about the way Locus’ fingers envelope his almost completely. And it’s not like Tucker’s a small guy, he’s perfectly average, thank you very much, on the tall side of average, really. But Locus is a mountain of a man and if he weren’t still kinda drippy, Tucker would want to wrap the guy around him. 

He still kinda wants to. Fuck. 

“I got it, dude,” he says, pretty proud of himself for keeping his voice as steady as he does. Tucker doesn’t meet Locus’ eyes, he kinda can’t or else he’ll totally lose it. But he does lean in and he doesn’t really have a plan until his lips are brushing a jawline that could cut a fucking mountain right down the middle. “Just stay put for a sec, I’ve got you.”

There’s a low rumbling noise from Locus that he takes as a sign to continue. Tucker sucks in a breath through his nose and presses a kiss to Locus’ neck before pulling away a little. He tries to clear the fog out of his head as he undoes the rest of the buttons. Hands he wants to melt into slide down his arms. They move up his biceps, over his shoulders. One curls around the back of his neck while the other moves to the small of his back. 

That one he’s a little grateful for, because the other then moves to play with his hair and Tucker suddenly needs help keeping his balance. Just breathe. Alright focus. He’s still fucking bleeding goddamn, this is not the time. 

The shirt comes off and he notices a little wince from Locus when he shifts to get it down his arms. For an assassin or a hitman or whatever, the guy has a shit poker face when he’s not thinking about it. 

Once he starts clearing away the blood, it’s not as bad as it looks. There’s a few cuts, Tucker’s guessing knives were involved, and there’s this one thing that he can’t identify, but he’d got a feel that if it was a little to the left there might be a bullet to dig out. And yeah, Tucker’s not quite ready for that. 

Locus is still as a statue as he carefully cleans and bandages up the cuts. At least nothing looks bad enough for stitches, because again, Tucker’s so not ready for that. He could probably look up like a tutorial online or something, but he doesn’t want to look at pictures of that right now. Blood he can handle, a needle going through skin. Ugh. No thanks. 

It’s hard not to let his fingers trail over miles of skin that’s slowly warming without the damp shirt keeping in the cold. Fuck, Locus is probably like a furnace when he hasn’t been soaked through for hours. Tucker’s half sure there’s little faint twitches and shudders from Locus as he smooths the bandages into place. 

Tongue between his teeth, he risks a quick glance as he presses the last bandage down, fingers brushing over skin ever so slightly as he fixes the edges into place. Locus’ hands have settled on his hips again and he’s sure they tense for a second. So he just… keeps going. 

Tucker’s fingers move from the bandage slowly, trailing lightly over Locus’ chest. His hands aren’t forced away and he risks another look at Locus’ face. The expression there seems more curious than anything else. 

So he keeps going. 

Fingers trail over scars. There’s got to be dozens of them, maybe a hundred. Some are small faded things, possibly from something mundane like falling off a bike or a bad trip down the stairs. But then there’s the rest. His fingers carefully brush what he’s sure is an old bullet wound, puckered and sunken in. Locus shivers a little when he traces a long thin line that runs down the middle of his chest. 

He glances up at his face again. Locus’ eyes have fallen shut and shit he’s got the longest eyelashes Tucker’s ever seen. “This too weird for you?” he asks, voice low. “You can tell me to fuck off if it gets weird.”

“No,” Locus says, almost too fast, one hand flying to Tucker’s like he might pull it away. “It’s… fine. You may continue. I don’t mind.”

“I  _ may _ huh?” He cocks an eyebrow, but he doesn’t stop. Locus’ hand moves down to his forearm, holding loosely as Tucker goes back to feeling up his chest. The chill’s leaving him, which is probably a good thing, but it makes Tucker just want to press his face into Locus’ chest and stay there. 

Maybe unconsciously, he finds himself leaning forward a little, though he doesn’t go for Locus’ chest. Fuck it, he’s already kissed the guy’s neck once and hasn’t gotten shoved off for it. Cause he’s also still on his lap. Which is a thing. 

So he leans in and lets his lips press lightly to the dip in Locus’ collarbone and hears the slightest intake of breath. The hand pressed to his back moves up along his spine, coasting along the back of his neck and up into his hair. Fingers curl into his dreads and give a little tug and fuck if that doesn’t send a rush of sparks through him. 

He moves with the tug, letting Locus pull his head back, and for a second, Tucker thinks he’s being told no. But then Locus is reaching with his other hand to cup his chin. There’s a look of intense focus and curiosity on his face, brows knit together above a perpetual frown. Tucker almost swallows his tongue when Locus brushes a thumb over his lower lip in a silent question. 

And this is… such a bad idea. Like, so fucking bad. Locus should be terrifying, should be kicked the fuck out of Tucker’s apartment now that he’s patched up. But Tucker just nods and starts trying to lean in despite the hand in his hair. 

There’s a low, pleased sounding rumble from Locus and then his lips are on Tucker’s and that’s the only thing in the fucking world that matters. 

Tucker’s hands roam a broad expanse of scars and muscles as he kisses his way into a mouth that’s so hot it almost burns. There’s a hint of hesitance from Locus, but he follows Tucker’s lead and the hand on his chin moves to cup Tucker’s face, holding him carefully, like he’s something worth protecting. 

He’s still straddling Locus’ lap, so it’s easy to shift closer and get his legs wrapped around his middle. Those strong hands move down Tucker’s sides as the kiss grows more heated, Locus’ tongue in his mouth dragging in a way that makes his toes curl. He can’t stop a soft noise that just gets louder when Locus’ hands move to his ass and give a tentative squeeze. 

That hesitance is… almost sweet. Like Locus doesn’t want to push him, like he’s just testing the waters. Which is cool, but the longer this goes, the more Tucker wants him to push a little harder. Might as well lead by example. 

One of his hands goes to Locus’ hair. It’s a little frizzy and all over the place, slipping free of the long ponytail. Tucker just winds his fingers in and gives a little tug. 

The reaction is immediate. There’s a low growl that makes him shiver and a squeeze to his ass that just spurs him on. Okay, good, he can work with that. 

Using the grip on Locus hair, he pulls himself closer and just fucking grinds down on him. There’s another low, rumbling growl that he can feel all the way down to his toes, Jesus Christ. He rocks down against him again and Locus pulls back from the kiss. 

“Lavernius,” he says, voice low and breathless, rolling his name off his tongue like a prayer. If he could hear a million hymns in that voice, it wouldn’t be enough. Wouldn’t be close to the sound of his own fucking name in that soft, deep rumble. “Your bedroom is… where?”

Never mind. That’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard, stilted and awkward and shockingly earnest, with a simmering heat behind it. Goddamn it. That’s honestly not fucking fair. 

“Two doors down.” And Tucker leans in and latches onto Locus’ neck, trusting him to get them there. Fuck it, they could do it in the bathtub at this point and he’d be down. 

Locus seems to have a different opinion and grabs at his thighs, holding him securely as he gets to his feet. The apartment isn’t big, so Tucker figures Locus can get them where they’re going and just keeps his focus on littering his throat with as many hickeys as physically possible. There’s lots of little rumbling growls that he tries to commit to memory, but Locus never falters in his steps. 

Suddenly the world becomes horizontal as Tucker’s back hits his bed. The mattress creaks with Locus’ weight as he climbs on top of him, knees bracketing Tucker’s hips as he reaches to cup his face, bringing their lips together again. Locus’ kisses aren’t rough like Tucker expects. Not that he’s thought about it. Because he definitely hasn’t been nudged out of half a dozen daydreams just like this one, or spilled hot coffee on himself while he’s busy wondering what those hands would feel like running over him. 

The answer to the question he definitely hasn’t asked in his head three hundred times, is that they feel pretty fucking awesome. One hand is on the bed next to Tucker’s head, probably to stop all Locus’ weight from coming down on top of him, which is pretty appreciated. But the other one is slowly warming and surprisingly gentle as it slides up Tucker’s chest, dragging his shirt along with it. 

Tucker makes a slight noise of frustration when the shirt bunches up under his arms and he pulls away to yank it off, tossing it away before tugging Locus back down. His teeth catch Locus’ lip and there’s a rough inhale above him. It occurs to him then that… he’s being the more aggressive on here. Which is weird. Locus is almost hesitant, mostly reacting, letting him take the lead. 

Breaking the kiss, he blinks up at Locus, one eyebrow rising. “You’re into this, right?”

There’s that little confused furrow again. God he can’t imagine how Locus manages to get shit done with eyes like that, so wide and expressive. Maybe that’s why he almost always seems to have sunglasses on him. 

“I thought that was obvious?” There’s a little hint of sarcasm and okay, the fact that the guy sounds so normal saying that is reassuring and bizarre at the same time. 

Tucker snorts and cocks his head to the side. One of his hands has made it’s way up to play with Locus’ hair, huh, how did that get there? “Could’ve fooled me, dude. Y’know I’m not gonna break, right?”

“I’m aware.” Locus still looks confused. “Is this… am I doing something wrong?”

“Nah, it’s not wrong, just--it’s like you’re holding back. Like I dunno, you’re nervous or something.” And Tucker almost follows up with something about how that’s ridiculous, there’s no way a guy like Locus could be nervous about a little casual boning. But surprise and then shame flicker across Locus’ face. 

Holy shit. He’s nervous. 

Locus sits back, still straddling Tucker, but his weight is mostly off him.  And even though he has an awesome view of about a million miles of muscle from his spot, Tucker pushes himself up on his elbows and reaches for him, grabbing at Locus’ arm to try to stop him getting off completely. “Hey, uh, it’s not a bad thing if you are. I mean, you don’t have to be. Cause I’m so down for this if you are.”

Several different emotions flit across Locus face, his eyes dropping to where Tucker’s hand rests on his arm. He slowly covers it with his own. “I haven’t… done this in some time.”

Fuck. The hesitance, the awkwardness, almost like he’s shy. That shouldn’t be endearing. No part of Locus should be cute. When Tucker pictured this in his head, which okay he’s done an embarrassing number of times now, he had always imagined clothes ripping and rough hands pinning his hips down, growls and biting teeth leaving him with marks he’d feel for days in the best kind of way. 

Locus taking his hand and holding it carefully as he brings his fingers to his lips, trailing kisses over his knuckles like some kind of fucked up Disney prince never even crossed his mind. It makes something flutter in his stomach and, okay, that’s still hot, just not the kind of hot he figured on. 

“C’mere.” Tucker reaches for him and Locus goes. There’s a little more heat this time, and Locus makes this rumbly humming noise when Tucker shoves his tongue in his mouth. Locus’ hand runs over his chest and Tucker sucks in a sharp breath when a thumb brushes his nipple. That seems to get his attention and Locus’ thumb drags over it and Tucker’s back arches. His one weakness. 

His hands tangle in stupidly pretty hair and he tugs. Locus growls into his mouth and shivers go all the way down to Tucker’s toes. Scar covered fingers drag down his chest, with the slightest hint of nails and Tucker makes a noise that he’s probably going to be embarrassed about later. He gives Locus’ hair another pull before freeing up one of his hands to reach between them to fumble at his belt.

It takes a few bit of awkward scrambling, and Locus’ mouth moves to his neck, which is more distracting than helpful. Teeth scrape over his thundering pulse and his breath hitches as he tips his head back for more. “Shit, keep doing that,” he mutters. “Fuck, Locus--”

And above him, Locus goes still for a moment before kissing his way along Tucker’s jaw, warm mouth leaving him gasping, as he works up to his ear. “Sam, it’s--my name is Sam. Not Locus.”

Oh. Well, that kind of makes sense. Who the fuck would name their kid ‘Locus’? Tucker’s not entirely sure why he’s being told that now. Maybe the codename makes it feel all impersonal and weird. Seems like something that should’ve come up sooner. 

Whatever. He can work with Sam. 

“Got it. Sam.” And he turns his head to press sloppy kisses over Locus’ cheek until he manages to catch his lips again. 

There’s a bit more fumbling between him and his hand brushes the front of Locus’ slacks, feeling the hard outline of his cock straining against the fabric. Locus growls low and rough as his teeth catch Tucker’s lower lip and  _ pull _ . Oh fuck. And that’s the bit he expected, the toeing of the line between pleasure and pain and shit if it’s not four million times better than he pictured in his head. 

Tucker manages to get his hands to work with him enough to undo Locus’ belt and force his pants out of the way before freeing his own dick, which brushes against Locus’ as it springs up, making him shudder and moan. But that’s nothing compared to the low noise he gets in return. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

“ _ With pleasure _ .”

Locus’ mouth descends on his neck and doesn’t give Tucker more than a few seconds to digest that. Because holy shit that’s going to be playing in his wet dreams for years after this. It’s kind of hard to get coherent thoughts to happen with that hot mouth and insistent tongue dragging down his throat. 

They need things for this. Important things. Come on, he knows this. Tucker reaches for his nightstand and almost definitely knocks a bunch of shit off it before he manages to get into the drawer for a condom and lube. 

Tucker gets both out before he tosses his head back and a loud moan rips its way out of him as Locus mouths at his collarbone, hands working his nipples. Jesus Christ. He lightly pushes at Locus’ shoulder, catching the brief look of concern on his face as he sits up and shaking his head. Shoving the lube at Locus, he wiggles out of his jeans and boxers, kicking them off and out of the way before he climbs onto Locus’ lap and gets a hand around both of their cocks.

This close, he can fucking feel the groan that rumbles through Locus. Teeth find his shoulder and bite down as one of Locus’ hand snakes into his hair and tugs. Tucker sucks in a sharp hiss of breath as sparks shoot down his spine. Damn it. Hair pulling, his other one weakness. 

He rolls his hips and Locus gives his hair another tug to yank him into a bruising kiss that leaves him seeing stars. At some point Locus must get the lube open, because a slicked up finger pushes at Tucker’s entrance and he breathes in sharply. 

It’s been a little while since he’s done this and there’s a little discomfort, but Locus eases that away when his mouth goes to one of Tucker’s nipples, sucking hard enough to make the world white out for a second. He’s panting and clutching tight at Locus’ hair when a second finger joins the first and starts to work in and out of him. A deep thrust in has Tucker keening and pressing his face into Locus’ shoulder.

Locus presses just there in slow circles until Tucker’s squirming and grabbing at his back, probably leaving a few scratches. “Sam,” he says, moaning out the name. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me--”

And Locus fucking chuckles. If he wasn’t pressed up to Locus’ chest enough to feel it through him, Tucker would be pissed. As it is, he just lets out a frustrated noise and tugs at Locus’ hair. 

“Dude, come on, I’m good, just let me sit on your dick already.” And yeah, alright, that sounds a little desperate, but Tucker’s so past caring at this point. 

He’s pretty sure Locus is laughing at him again as he grabs Tucker’s hips and moves him off his lap. Locus shifts a little and then makes a vaguely irritated noise when he seems to realize he can’t get his pants off without standing. Though Tucker appreciates the standing, because fuck, this is a nice view. 

But then Locus just sort of… stays there, pants around his ankles, hand still sort of half covered in lube, dick looking almost painfully hard, something like apprehension on his face. Tucker reaches for him. “Hey, c’mere.”

Locus goes, climbing back onto the bed and Tucker’s on his lap in a second. Tucker cups his face, thumbs brushing the edge of that perpetual frown. “Still good with this, big guy?”

“Yes, I… I want this. I want you, Lavernius.” And there’s something so fucking earnest about the way he says it. Tucker’s grateful that his complexion mostly hides the flush he can feel creeping over him. 

“Cool.” Wow, so fucking smooth. Goddamn it. He’s supposed to be good at this. Okay, take a breath. He’s so got this. 

Tucker grabs the lube and reaches for Locus’ dick. A grin spreads over his face at the groan Locus tries to muffle against his shoulder. “You like that? Pretty sure I told you before how good I am with my hands.”

He’s pretty sure Locus is about to say some kind of irritated comeback, but with a jerk of his wrist, Tucker gets him grunting against his shoulder, teeth scraping over skin. 

Grabbing at Locus’ shoulders, Tucker sits up on his knees and positions himself before slowly sinking onto Locus’ dick. Shit, okay, that’s a lot bigger than his fingers. He presses his face into the crook of Locus’ neck. Hands smooth over his back and then his hips. 

“Are you alright?” There’s a heat to Locus’ voice, a little lower now, because that’s somehow fucking possible, Jesus Christ. 

Tucker nods and shifts a little, slowly adjusting to the stretch. “All good.”

Biting at the inside of his cheek, he slowly sinks further down until Locus is fully inside him. Fuck. Locus’ breath ghosts down the side of his neck, rough and ragged. Clutching tight at Locus’ shoulders he starts moving. 

The low grunts and groans spur him on. Locus’ dick brushes against that spot his fingers had found before and Tucker shudders, his toes curling. “Fuck--”

He rocks down again, trying to get that same angle. Locus finally seems to be done just sitting there, hands grabbing at Tucker’s hips as his own snap up into him and send a sharp jolt down his spine. A string of curses and moans fall from Tucker’s lips as he presses his forehead to Locus’ shoulder. 

Locus’ voice is low in his ear, muttering his name again and again. A hand winds into his hair, giving a pull that Tucker follows into a messy kiss. There’s no coordination and Tucker couldn’t give less of a shit, because Locus’ other hand finds it way between them to stroke at his weeping dick. 

“Fuck, Sam--” It doesn’t take more than a few jerks of Locus’ hand and the relentless pace of his hips driving in deep to send Tucker crashing over the edge, spurting between their chest. 

Everything fades away for a second, leaving only Locus’ voice in Tucker’s ear and his hands moving over him almost reverently, even as he thrusts into him faster than ever. Tucker comes back to himself and presses sloppy kisses to Locus’ neck and drags his fingers through his hair until he hears a low, rumbling groan as Locus comes inside him. 

For a few moments, there’s no sound but their heavy breathing. Tucker lightly pushes at Locus’ chest, wiggling out from the loose cage of his arms. He grabs a towel that’s… probably used given that it’s in his hamper, and wipes himself down before tossing it to Locus as he climbs back in bed, eager to get off boneless legs. 

He flops face first into a pillow and lays there until he hears the bed creak like someone’s getting up. Pushing himself up on one arm, Tucker frowns as he looks up  to find Locus standing at the foot of his bed, pants in hand. “The fuck are you doing?”

Locus blinks at him. “I… I should go.”

Tucker huffs and rolls his eyes. “Dude, your clothes are soaked and it’s still gross outside. It’s not gonna kill you to stay a while.”

A few different expressions flit over Locus’ face, though he never stops frowning. Seriously, Tucker’s starting to think the guy is allergic to smiling. After a few moments, his shoulders seem to slump a little before he sinks back onto the bed and lets Tucker tug at him until he’s laying next to him. 

Tucker grabs a blanket and throws it over both of them, settling his head on Locus’ shoulder. For a second, Locus seems to freeze, but then strong arms go around Tucker, holding him close. 

Honestly, Tucker’s pretty damn sure he’s going to wake up to an empty bed and go to work the next day like nothing happened, but for now, he’s content to let himself drift off listening to Locus’ breathing slowly even out. This is probably still a bad idea, but it’s one that Tucker hopes he has again. 


End file.
